


And Marmalade In Winter

by pinetreelady



Series: The Sun Comes Crashing In 'verse [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Farmer Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinetreelady/pseuds/pinetreelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cozy domestic feels, gratuitous food descriptions, and sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Marmalade In Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go, as usual, to [elisera](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elisera), who sent me [a picture of her own winter jam-making adventures](http://pinetreekate.tumblr.com/post/107942167800/and-marmalade-in-winter-another-installment-of), and then told me to step it up in the feels department after one draft, and patiently read and helped me fix another.

When Molly was tiny, weekend mornings started early, and the rare occasions when Derek and Stiles could sleep in together were something special, something to cherish. But now she’s ten, plenty old enough now to relish sleeping late when she can. Derek likes it that she’s big enough, now, that he can spend a quiet weekend morning in bed with Stiles, dozing and chit-chatting and groping, maybe lazily getting each other off. (Having a big kid is awesome.) Sometimes, though, he likes getting up early, alone in the quiet house, putting on his coziest fleece-lined sweatshirt and wooly socks with his slippers, coming downstairs to start the kitchen woodstove, the coffee, and a cooking project or two while everyone else is still sleeping. 

He hisses a little, quietly, when he gets out from the covers and into the cold air of the house. It’s so cozy in bed and Stiles is so warm, he could totally just … do this later. He hesitates for a long moment when Stiles reaches for him. He takes his hand and squeezes it gently, so tempted to get back under the warm blankets. 

But he really wants to get this accomplished in the quiet early morning. Still, he pauses before leaving the room, and smiles at the sight of Stiles burrowed into his side of the bed, curled around Derek’s pillow (and probably drooling on it; Derek makes a mental note to change the sheets later).

Derek creeps up the hall and pushes Molly’s door open to peek at her. It’s amazing that she’s so big, now; every time he looks in on her he half-expects to see toddler Molly instead of the big girl she’s become. She’s still dead to the world, all he can see is part of her pillow and one braid lying out over the comforter. He smiles, remembering when he had to do her braids for her; now she can manage them herself before bed to keep her hair from getting tangled while she sleeps. He sighs before pulling the door shut again. It squeaks a little. He’ll ask John to oil the hinges soon. He’s a putterer, is John, he likes having little projects to keep himself busy, and in this old house, there’s no shortage of them.

He creaks his way down the stairs, avoiding the one really noisy step, and blinks at the beam of weak winter sun that’s coming in through the window on the landing when he pauses to look out over the snow-dusted fields, thinking of the inexorable passage of time, of seasons, knowing that before long, they’ll be starting the spring planting again. He shakes himself, uses his cuff to polish away the condensation from his breath on the cold window.

The holidays had been so busy. It’s now nearly the middle of January, and Derek had intended today’s project for a month ago, to give as holiday gifts, but between parties and Molly’s piano recital (so much extra time practicing) and visits with friends, not to mention the flu that had taken them all down mid-way through December, he simply hadn’t found the time, and wound up giving summer jam and preserves, as well as cookies or bread, to friends and customers, for gifts. 

He stretches as he comes into the kitchen, flicks on the lights. The sun’s too low, still, to provide enough light for him to work. He crosses to the woodstove, the iron morning-frigid under his hand as he squats down to build a fire. He sits back on his heels and watches the flames catch, relishing the warmth on his face. He’s so glad that things are calmer now, that they’re all healthy again. Today’s the first day in weeks that Derek’s felt inclined to accomplish something beyond the basics of work and school, cooking and laundry and cleaning. 

But. Even when they were so busy, even when he was sick, he’s been itching to do some more canning. The last of summer’s tomatoes and fall’s apples feel like a long time ago, now. He misses his favorite hobby in the winter.

Derek has experimented with long-simmered, pectin-free jams made from summer fruit and he likes their caramelized, old-fashioned, slow-cooked flavor, different from the more modern fresh-tasting ones. And he’s played around with cooking down apples to make his own pectin. Stiles shakes his head indulgently and John’s wondered aloud why he bothers, but to Derek, this stuff is fun. He likes experimenting and figuring out what works best. Changing it up and teaching himself new skills keeps it fresh.

Now, in wintertime, he’s been dreaming of jam made from citrus fruit. Old-fashioned orange marmalade requires no pectin; it’s nothing but fruit and sugar, simmered together. He’s always liked the textured contrast of the citrus peel, as well as its bitterness, and he’s amazed he’s never thought to make it before.

This morning, he makes three small batches, one with cinnamon and star anise and the faintest scrape of nutmeg; one made tangy with ginger; one that’s half oranges and half Meyer lemon; just to see which ones they’ll all like, which ones he’ll make more of later or tomorrow. He keeps careful notes of amounts and proportions in his notebook on the table, so he’ll know how to replicate what he’s done or tweak things according to their preferences.

He’s finishing his second cup of coffee and waiting for the toast to pop up when John shuffles in. As John fixes his coffee, Derek spreads the toast with each of the three kinds of marmalade and wordlessly hands John the plate. He smiles his thanks and sits next to the stove with his iPad. Derek knows that conversation’s for _after_ John’s first cup of coffee.

Derek’s just fixing the second round of toast when Stiles emerges, looking sleepy and unfocused and really, just as delicious as the marmalade. His hair’s tousled and he’s got a crease from the pillow across his cheek and he still takes Derek’s breath away. Derek smiles at him and hands over his coffee, which Stiles takes appreciatively. Taking care of him is something Derek never tires of.

“It’s so toasty in here, Der, and it smells amazing.” His voice is still low and raspy from sleep. He rests back against the counter, hands wrapped around the coffee mug, and looks hopefully at the toast Derek’s spreading with the freshly-made jam, then smirks. “My hands are full,” he says,“feed me?” 

Derek sighs and shakes his head, but indulgently holds out a piece of toast with the orange-lemon marmalade for Stiles to take a bite. He closes his eyes blissfully and lets out a soft “Mmmmm” of pleasure that makes Derek shiver a little, for all John is sitting right there. He takes the next bite, himself though, and blinks. It’s really good, this one might be his favorite. They share the toast and then Stiles sighs, sets down the now-empty coffee mug before grabbing a clean one and filling them both.

He hands a coffee to Derek and asks hopefully, “So is there more of that?”

Just as Derek hands him another piece of toast, he hears a thump on the stairs, and then Molly’s stumbling in, rubbing her eyes and yawning hard. Her voice is thick with sleep when she says, “What’d you make, Papa? It smells really good in here.”

Like father, like daughter, Derek thinks, smiling to himself. “Hey, Miss Molly.”

She slips over to Derek and worms up against his side, and he pulls her close, drops a kiss on top of her head. Stiles pushes off from the counter and tweaks a braid on his way to the stove. “You want cocoa, Molly-girl, or tea?”

“Can you put a little coffee in my cocoa?” she asks, looking hopeful.

Derek sighs. “A _little_ bit, Molly.” He gives Stiles a look, since this is all his fault. She’s ten, for god’s sake, too young for a caffeine addiction.

“A little bit won’t hurt her, Derek,” John says from the bench by the stove, and Derek just shakes his head at all of them before grabbing the milk from the fridge.

“What flavor is this one, Papa?” Molly asks, poking curiously at the pans cooling on the stove. “And why didn’t you put it in jars?”

“I think Papa wanted us to be his test subjects,” Stiles says as he measures cocoa and sugar into the pan of milk Derek handed him.

“That’s right. I want to know which ones you guys like best, and then I’ll know what to make more of.”

Turns out none of them really love the one with ginger, but they can’t get enough of the lemon-orange one. John likes the one with the spices, he says it reminds him of one Claudia’s mom used to make, and they all get quiet for a moment. 

Derek remembers, now, seeing a recipe for marmalade with Christmas spices in the notebook Stiles had given him years ago. He hadn’t consciously been trying to make that, but wonders now if that’s where the idea had come from. He’s read so many recipes over the years that it’s almost impossible for him to say where any one bit of inspiration springs from.

“What if you made one with grapefruit, too?” Stiles wonders a few moments afterward, and Molly’s face lights up. She loves grapefruit.

“Ooooh, can we, Papa? I’ll go to the store with you!” She bounces a little in place.

“Tell you what, pumpkin, if you get Grandpa and Daddy to make dinner tonight, you and I can go to the store and make jam all afternoon, how does that sound?” Molly’s attention span is amazing, when it comes to this kind of thing. She’ll be cutting up fruit and measuring sugar, stirring tirelessly while he sterilizes jars, right alongside him.

“Then we’ll put it in jars, right?”

“Right. We’ll make bigger batches of our favorites and then we can give it to our friends.”

“Not all of it, though. I want to keep some just for us!”

“Of course. And maybe we can get your dad to make some more bread so we can have some more of this fantastic toast tomorrow morning, too.”

Stiles has his own winter projects, beer brewing and cider making and most recently, bread-baking. This multi-grain bread satisfies his need for healthiness for them all as well as everyone’s need for delicious bread. And it makes perfect toast.

Stiles flashes him a quick smile. “It was on my to-do list today anyway. I just don’t want to get in the way of you jam-makers.”

“You won’t.” Derek returns the smile. They work together well in the kitchen, as pretty much everywhere else.

Stiles stirs the cocoa and Molly goes to sit next to her grandpa, bringing him another plate of toast to share, and asks him about some game they play together on his iPad. Derek tops up John’s coffee before coming up behind Stiles and putting an arm around his waist, snugging up close behind him, resting his chin gently on Stiles’ shoulder, nosing under his ear just to make him shiver. He sighs, deeply content. 

He knows that putting John in charge of dinner means they’ll probably eat meatballs and sauce from the freezer, though Stiles will undoubtedly insist on a salad made from the herbs and microgreens he grows for them and a few friends in their greenhouse. Maybe Derek will make some of the mashed squash with roasted garlic and maple syrup that everyone likes, because Stiles is always happier when they eat more vegetables.

Stiles is still stirring Molly’s cocoa with one hand but he reaches the other up to run his fingers through Derek’s hair and Derek’s sure Stiles doesn’t miss the twitch of his cock against Stiles’ ass, pressed up flush against him as he is. Stiles turns off the steaming cocoa, puts down the whisk and turns around, presses his warmth against Derek’s front, leans in to plant a soft kiss on his mouth. 

The stress of the last month, and everyone getting sick, means it’s been awhile since they’ve managed to find any time for sex. The middle of the kitchen with his daughter and his father-in-law only a few feet away isn’t an appropriate time or place, but holding Stiles in his arms, warm and sweet, isn’t convincing his body of that fact. Stiles laughs softly and kisses him again, and Derek can feel his breath catch, but. He pulls away, rests his hands on Stiles’ hips, and steps back. 

He steals a look over at John and Molly, both still leaning intently over John’s iPad, but John says, without looking up, “You two are not subtle, you know.” Derek feels himself flush a little, but whatever. Stiles just laughs, presses close again to whisper in Derek’s ear, “Later, okay? We’ll catch up properly tonight.” Derek nods, unable to rein in his pleased smile, and leans in to rub his nose against Stiles’s cheek. 

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I bet you will.” His mouth twists in a smirk and he runs a hand down Derek’s chest, inside his unzipped hoodie, just brushing over a nipple enough to make Derek draw in a sharp breath. “Now. Out of my way, I need to get our kid her cocoa, jeez.”

Derek shakes his head and backs away, grabs his own mug and slurps up some more coffee. He watches Stiles pour Molly’s cocoa and admires the way his ass looks in his pajama pants, the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his neck. Later tonight is gonna be awesome.

~*~

They watch a movie, in the evening, at least until John’s dozing in his chair, and Molly’s passed out over both their laps. They’d had her brush her teeth and put on her pajamas before starting the movie, and she’d protested until they told her they’d do it, too. 

“Like a slumber party?”

“Yeah, Molly-girl, just like that.”

And Derek had to admit, it was cozy as anything, to be all curled up under blankets, getting sleepier and sleepier while the movie played.

Stiles is a little squirmier than usual, and he smirks enough at Derek’s inquiring glances that Derek starts to guess what he was up to, why he’d shooed Derek away from their bathroom when they were getting their pajamas on, why he’d come down a few minutes after everyone else was ready to start watching.

He smiles to himself, thinking of what John had said earlier, about them not being subtle. Not even a little. 

Stiles squeezed his hand and murmured, “Now you’re catching on,” and Derek feels desire pool low in his gut, where it’s been simmering all day, since their moment this morning while making Molly’s cocoa. Working their sex life around the needs of a family isn’t always easy, but delayed gratification can be very sweet. He shivers a little, and Stiles squeezes his hand again.

“You think they’re down for the count?” Stiles asks about halfway through the movie, and at Derek’s nod, Stiles shifts Molly off himself and onto Derek, and goes to wake his dad, prod him into going to bed. 

Derek picks Molly up, letting out a soft “Ooof” because she’s a lot heavier than she used to be. Still, he has a vested interest in keeping her sleeping, tonight, so he opts to carry her upstairs rather than waking her to walk herself. 

The house is very quiet as they strip down. Derek is a fan of flannel sheets in the winter, and he stuck a couple hot water bottles into their bed to take the chill off, to make getting into bed naked a little more palatable. Stiles makes it in first, but Derek climbs in quickly, and he sighs at the warmth and comfort after a happily busy day. He’s more than half hard, arousal a palpable presence in the room.

Stiles shoves himself up next to him, says, “I hope you don’t mind me uh, jumping the gun, so to speak?”

Derek relaxes into the building desire he’s been controlling all day, letting it wash over him, and quirks an eyebrow at Stiles, raising himself up on one elbow. “Not so much, no,” he drawls, and draws his fingertips along Stiles’ side, back along the curve of his ass. He trails lower and feels Stiles tense and thrust his hips minutely, probably involuntarily, as he reaches the plug he knew he’d find there. Stiles groans softly and presses his face blindly toward Derek’s, meeting his lips in an uncoordinated kiss. They’re both pretty worked up already; it really has been awhile. Derek twists the plug gently just to make Stiles groan, and reaches for the lube he’d found conveniently stashed under his pillow when he’d changed the sheets earlier. 

Usually they talk about what they’re going to do, it’s true, but this is pretty exciting, Derek has to admit, to have Stiles just decide for them, for a change, and he feels his dick stiffen even more. He reaches around to brush his knuckles across Stiles’s balls and he twitches forward hard, their dicks coming into contact and that’s it, Derek’s ready for this five minutes ago.

Stiles moans and pants a little as Derek thumbs at his nipples, then shoves his hips over so Derek can straddle him, rub against him properly. He can feel his own flushed cheeks, the tightening of his balls, as his desire ratchets up another notch.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers roughly, “but I don’t think I’m gonna last long. I just. It’s been awhile and I prepped myself before so we could just … go hard and fast. Is that okay?”

Derek feels winded, draws a shuddering breath, pulls one of Stiles’ knees up, wriggles down so he can reach Stiles’ ass. “So, so okay,” he breathes, and works the plug out. 

Stiles gasps at the shock of it and Derek plunges in a finger and then quickly, two, as Stiles pants harshly in his ear. “Need some more lube?” 

Derek nods blindly as he carefully slips in a third finger and Stiles groans softly. “The plug’s fine for getting the job done, but babe, your fingers, god, you feel so fucking good in me.”

Derek involuntarily curls his fingers when Stiles’ well-lubed hand is suddenly around his cock and Derek gasps at the sensation, but Stiles does too, as Derek’s fingers find a sensitive spot and, oh god, he groans, suddenly utterly unable to make words at all.

Stiles shoves at him and he reels up and back as Stiles grabs behind his own knees and pants, “Derek, in me, now, please, you have to fill me back up, I’m …”

And Derek may be nonverbal, but he can still /move\ and so he slots himself over Stiles and presses the head of his cock at Stiles’ opening and his eyes roll back at the easy slide as he presses farther in. Stiles shifts minutely and then Derek’s filling him all the way, as deep as he can go, and they both grunt a little at the shock. Their eyes meet, and Derek bets he’s mirroring the heavy lids and dropped-open mouth he can see on Stiles’ face.

“You … good?” He manages to say.

Stiles nods, pants, “So good, Derek, you don’t even know, please, just …”

And Derek pulls out and thrusts back in and the slick slide makes him so hot, he’s not going to last, either, he thinks, as he shoves back in, and Stiles makes a punched-out noise that just revs Derek up more. 

The heat of Stiles, the slide, Derek’s unable to do anything else but hold himself up and thrust again and again. Stiles is writhing under him, and Derek manages to brace himself so he can hold on to one of Stiles’ legs, freeing his hand. Stiles figures out what he’s done, reaches for his own cock and Derek can tell from the way his breathing hitches, the way he’s clenching tighter around Derek, that he’s about to come, and Derek does his best to angle for his prostate, when he feels Stiles tense underneath him and he lets out a shuddering moan and Derek’s just done, shattering apart as his orgasm hits him so hard lights flash behind his squeezed-closed eyes. 

He takes a moment to help Stiles straighten his legs gently before he just collapses down onto him, he can feel come dribbling out of Stiles onto his own softening dick and Stiles’ come squishes unpleasantly between them but he just doesn’t care. That was so good. It’s kind of amazing, really, that after all this time, it still feels so good, so right.

They get cleaned up, pull their pajama pants back on. It’s less and less common for Molly to crawl into their bed in the early mornings, but it still happens, and they learned the hard way when she was very young that it’s better to have clothes on when that happens. Plus it’s _cold_ , sleeping naked isn’t really much fun in the winter.

“We’re so lucky, Derek,” Stiles murmurs into the dark space between them, where they’re curled together under the covers. Derek thinks over their day, the gleaming jars of jam cooling on the table, the mess in the compost, scrubbing the sticky mess out of the pans. The fragrant bread Stiles had baked just before dinner. The delicate shortbread cookies Molly had talked Derek into making, to go with the marmalade. Their dinner, engineered by John, which wound up being almost exactly as Derek had visualized it in the morning. 

The walk they’d all taken after dinner, before the movie, into the frosty night, on their land. The frozen ground, frosty and almost luminous in the starlight, their breath clouding the air, the distant sound of cars on the country highway nearby. 

Derek’s got his cheek pressed against Stiles' shoulder, arm slung around his middle, legs bent under Stiles’. Stiles is stroking his arm slowly, gently. He kisses the soft skin of Stiles’ shoulder, sighs deeply. “We really are,” he answers, before drifting off to sleep.


End file.
